There were cries of amusement and derision from the crowd, and a voice shouted:
“Is that one of the wonderful men from Yale? He does not seem to be such hot stuff. Wait till you see Benson toss the shot.”
Browning stiffened up, and his face became set. He glanced at Frank, expecting Merriwell would be angry, but was met with a smile and a nod of encouragement.
“I’ll do something this time if it’s in me!” Bruce mentally vowed.
He did.
On the third trial he sent the shot whizzing through the air to fall far beyond the mark made by Cummings.
When the tape was run it was found he had made thirty-eight feet and eleven inches.
Then Browning was given a round of applause, and Frank congratulated him when he stepped back into the crowd.
The man who followed Browning made thirty-two feet, and then Benson came up. Wallace Random said a few words to Santa Barbara’s champion shot putter, and Benson nodded, although there was a worried look on his face.
The crowd of spectators were silent and expectant.